fluxscape | (no subject)

Who: Stiles and YOU!
What: Looking for Work/schmoozing with the not-so-locals/annoying anyone within hearing range
Where: The Fix-It shop
When: April 23
Warnings: Improper use of duct tape and excessive application of WD-40.

While Stiles was not onboard with sticking around any longer than was strictly necessary, he'd more or less figured out he was going to need a better plan than 'Wait for Scott' to get out of here, and plans more often than not involved the use of things that cost money.

Also, he was a growing boy. He needed to eat. And a refill on his meds. Which probably meant a doctor's appointment and why was life so expensive? He sighed as he arrived at the Fix-It shop and pushed the door open, heading to the counter to lean up on it. And pat the little metal bell, making it ring once.

But he couldn't just touch it once. No. He gazed at it longingly. And then he rang it again. Then two more times. Again. Just... just once more. Maybe twice. Oh, who was going to notice if he did it a third time?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Beck nods. "I know the feeling. I've only been here for a few weeks myself." He's looking down more at his work than directly at Stiles.

"Weeks?" The word came out at an odd pitch, like his voice was cracking, even though he already knew plenty of people had been around for weeks or even months. "C'mon man, I just wanna get home," he wilted against the work table a little, his gaze dropping to the radio, too. "What've you tried so far?"

He sighs heavily, tapping his work screwdriver against the side of the bench.

"I can't get a signal out to... the real world. Or my real world. In a way, maybe it's better to remain here. Once that weirdness was over with the ice, this place hasn't been so bad."

He sounds a little defeated, like somebody trying to escape from something and has accepted that this is a dead end. But that maybe that's for the best.